Abby's Lab Rat
by Yanagi-wa
Summary: Tony!SEAL side story. Tony ordered one of the SEAL's to help Abby in her lab after he made some uncomplimentary remarks about her. This is the story of Abby's temporary lab assistant.


Abby's Lab Rat — Beta'ed  
by Yanagi-wa

Tony!SEAL side story. Tony ordered one of the SEAL's to help Abby in her lab after he made some uncomplimentary remarks about her. This is the story of Abby's temporary lab assistant. - Rated: M- Published: 06-09-13 - Complete - Words: 11,417 - Abby S.  
Part of my Tony/SEAL universe.  
Since Fanfiction has a bad habit of deleting italics and such /sign/ marks sign language. Abby speaks American Sign Language because her parents were both deaf. I'm not sure why Gibbs does, so I'm assigning that talent to being a Scout Sniper.

Beta'ed by Jordre and Jake

.

Petty Officer Elmo Jones knew he was in a world of shit. DiNozzo didn't mess around. His punishment was exactly that: punishment. He so did not want to deal with some nut-job lab rat; scuttlebutt was, she was eccentric. In his experience, that meant crazy as a shithouse rat.

But, he was but a lowly petty officer while DiNozzo was a Lieutenant Commander. So he did as he was told. Having to be dogsbody to some eccentric, nut-job, genius forensic scientist was just part of the package. He was a SEAL and proud of it. If he'd screwed the pooch with this, he'd fix it. If not, he was so going to kick his buddy's ass― after all, he was the person that got him involved in the conversation that got him in trouble in the first place. He was just glad that AJ had decided to let it go until after that big op the whole team had been involved in.

After presenting his credentials at the gate, PO Jones parked in the visitors' lot and approached the main door. He was greeted by LtC DiNozzo, who barked, "You're late! Move it!" then turned and led the way into the bowels of the building.

.

Abby fiddled with one of her machines; it was just not right. She kept all her babies in perfect condition, properly calibrated and everything. But somehow, her DNA sequencer wasn't "right," and she didn't like it. Someone had come into her lab and done something.

Abby was very proud of her lab. She was the only forensic scientist in NCIS who had a complete lab all to herself. All the other labs had one person assigned to one machine. She was well aware that she was the exception to the rule and that she got away with a great deal more than she should. But with her IQ and the number of degrees she had, every director she'd worked under had made exceptions. Gibbs was careful that she didn't take enough advantage to get into real trouble.

So when he'd asked her to help Tony by taking on a temporary lab assistant, she'd reluctantly agreed. When Tony had told her to make the experience as informative, and miserable, as possible, she'd resigned herself. She wondered if she could get away with making the man do the hated job of cleaning the supply cabinets and fridges. She also had a pile of test tubes that needed washing and autoclaving.

Tony, watching her face, just said, "Do not maim or kill him. Other than that, anything's fair game. Just make sure he knows how nasty your job can be and how smart you have to be to do all this by yourself." He kissed her forehead and left, grumbling about "late-ass squids."

He returned five minutes later, barking at another man's heels. "I don't care. Thirty minutes early is late around here. I told you: be on time."

Abby took a second to inspect her new, temporary aide. He was tall, 6'2" or so, broad-shouldered, flat-bellied, and hard. His dirty blond hair was cut in a high-and-tight that complimented his high cheekbones and strong jaw. She couldn't quite decide if his eyes were hazel or brown. She narrowed her eyes at him. "Ok, Tony. But if he turns out to be some sort of nut-job, all bets are off." Abby handed the SEAL a string of bells. "Wear this. If I tell you to do something that you don't know how to do, do not make it up as you go along. Stay in my line of sight at all times, but out of arm's reach. Your arm's reach. Clear?"

Elmo Jones wondered what the hell he'd gotten into, but he obediently put the bells around his neck, then nodded, making them jingle. He also wondered how she was going to hear him over that cacophony she assumedly called music.

"If I move so that you're not in my line of sight, move into it. Unless you're actually doing something." She turned to Tony. "Ok, mister, go, shoo, get out. I'm sure you've got something you need to be doing."

Tony eyed PO Jones for a moment, making him sweat. "You upset Abby and I'll turn you over to Gibbs, then I get the leftovers. Got me?"

Jones nodded. "Sir! Yes, Sir! Got it, Sir!"

Abby eyed him again. Tony left.

"Ok, at easy, or whatever. I've got a pile of test tubes that need to be cleaned. And then the supply cabinet and fridges need cleaning. I do all that myself, but I've been swamped for the last three weeks and haven't had time. So you get to do it. I'll show you where the supplies are. Start on the test tubes. Most of our stuff is disposable, except for the lab glass: test tubes, Petri dishes, beakers and that sort of thing. All that has to be scrubbed with a special cleaner, then autoclaved. When it comes time to do that, let me know. I do not want you blowing it up by not closing the door properly. Any questions?" Abby gave Jones a quick look.

PO Jones was no fool, no matter that he'd done something foolish. "Not just yet, ma'am. I know how to wash a dish."

Abby eyeballed him again. "Ok, I'll show you how I want it done. And lab glass is not a dish. If you drop something and break it, do not try to pick it up with your hands. I've got a special broom and dust pan, just for that."

It didn't take Abby long to show PO Jones how to clean each piece her way. She walked away, announcing, "And stay right there. Unless you need a potty break. Then, tell me before you move."

As she returned to her work, she realized that the highly polished back splash allowed the Petty Officer to see everything she did. She decided it didn't really matter.

PO Jones watched as Abby bustled about, setting up a serology run and a DNA test, and popping things into the mass spectrometer and the centrifuge. She also did several chemical analyses, one after the other. He noticed that she kept meticulous notes, each set on its own clipboard. And she went through gloves at an alarming rate.

He finished with the uncountable mass of test tubes and turned to the Petri dishes. These were disgusting, almost as nasty as the test tubes had been. He drained the water from the wash sink then turned to ask, "Can I use the rinse water for wash, or do I need to change it out too?"

Abby eyed the test tubes carefully, then asked, "How many times did you change the water?"

Jones knew he'd better be not only truthful, but right. "I changed the wash water when it got cloudy, and the rinse when I changed the wash. I added the chemicals just like you did."

"Okay." Abby nodded once. "Good. But, never, ever use rinse water for wash, or I'll make you do it all over again."

"Just for my own information... Why?" Jones decided that he'd ask questions. SEALs never passed up a chance to learn something.

"Cross-contamination. Everything has to be spotless. I don't need it sterile, but I autoclave everything to make sure that every trace of old evidence has been removed. You would not believe how sensitive my babies are. I can find one part in a million. Now, get back to washing. And make sure that you get the angles clean." Abby skittered away as Jones got too close. "Arm's length!"

"Sorry, ma'am." Jones wondered what the hell had happened to make her so damn gun-shy. The only things he could come up with put a scowl on his face.

Abby noticed the expression but put it down to his being pissed at having to wash a ton of lab glass. Dismissing that, she checked her DNA sequencer test and realized that she was going to have to recalibrate it again. The anomaly couldn't be put down to drift; someone was messing with her babies.

"Damn it! Someone has been messing with my DNA sequencer. When I find them I'm gonna..." Abby flailed her arms around, trying to decide which torture was appropriate. "And then..." She sighed and reached for the phone.

A quick phone call to the person in charge of repairs to all lab equipment got the information Abby wanted. There were technicians assigned to make sure all equipment was properly calibrated, but they'd all been told to leave Abby's lab alone. Her machines were older and she took care of them herself, as they'd drifted from the factory settings over the months and years they'd been in service. She kept them calibrated for optimum results, not to factory spec. A new tech evidently hadn't read the memos and had been in her lab, returning the DNA sequencer to factory standards. Jones was impressed with Abby's vocabulary when the man was put on the phone.

Abby slammed the phone down with a sharp nod. "And stay out of my lab!"

.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs would admit that Abby was his favorite; he even admitted that she reminded him of his long-dead daughter. He would not admit that he realized that he was one of the reasons the eccentric Goth still had her job. He understood her in a way that few others did. Leon Vance relied on him to keep Abby from going completely off the rails. AJ DiNozzo was another person he relied on to keep her on track. So when they both told him that she needed an aide for a day, to help her get over her antipathy to any TAD aide, he just nodded, spit out his toothpick and agreed. He hoped he wasn't going to regret it.

Tony was in the middle of explaining to Gibbs exactly why Jones was Abby's lab rat, and Gibbs wasn't looking any too happy about it.

"So, see, Boss. It's not like he's a nut or anything. But he's got it into his head that you have to be a certain way or you're not fit. And Abby's anything but what he considers fit. It's going to get him killed, if I can't knock that attitude off at the knees. And, I kinda like him. Even if he is a legal Jonny." Tony made a face. He, like Gibbs, wasn't that fond of lawyers. Gibbs even had a rule about it. 'Never involve a lawyer. Ever'

"So this Jones guy is a lawyer? What do SEALs need with a lawyer in the field?" Gibbs settled into his chair, coffee in hand.

"Well, it's not that so much. He's demolitions, mostly. But we're all encouraged to prepare, now, for the time when we're out of the field. Need a backup plan, so to speak." Tony knew, by the expression on Gibbs' face, that he understood the unspoken 'if we survive that long.' They both ignored the gorilla in the room.

"That's all well and good. I just don't understand what the hell you think having him in Abby's lab will do." Gibbs sipped coffee and waited for Tony to get his thoughts in order.

"Well, he was blowing off all the things she does as easy-peasy. And she works so hard... it just pissed me off. Then he made a remark about her being a Goth, like that negated how brilliant she is. So, he can just hang with her for a day. I bet she wears him out." He snickered, "Right now she has him washing glass. There's about twenty of those rack things full. One is just test tubes... must be a million of 'em." Tony returned to his desk. "McGee?" Tim McGee flinched then turned to look at Tony. "Hack into the system and put up a feed from Abby's lab, will you?"

"Um... Boss?" Tim wasn't about to do something like that without authorization.

"Do it." Gibbs grinned; this could be interesting.

What they saw was funny. There stood a huge SEAL in his black uniform, sleeves rolled up to his elbows, scrubbing out Petri dishes. The dishes looked tiny in the man's hands. But he was diligently cleaning them with the special brush that Abby had had made for her by someone somewhere. No one really asked Abby where or how she did things; she just did.

The thing that made them all have hysterics was the merry jingle of the string of sleigh bells around his neck.

It might not seem funny to some, but to those in the know, the thought of a decorated SEAL wearing a string of bells while washing dishes just cracked them up.

.

Abby eyed the USB drive with suspicion and disgust. "Well, what the hell were they thinking? I mean, stepping on that was just stupid. Who told them that you could put a bug in a USB? Not that you couldn't. At least, I could. But why? You'd have to mount it to a computer for power. And... Well, it's just dumb." She sighed and started to put the guts of the USB into another case so she could access the files on it. She flinched as a shadow loomed over her work bench.

"Sorry, ma'am." Jones gritted his teeth. He was going to find out who had frightened this woman so, and hurt him. "Didn't mean to startle you. I'm done with the glassware, so you need to show me how to run the autoclave."

"Ok, just a sec. I've... nearly... got it. Damn!" Abby swore as the tiny chip popped out of the case and skidded across her bench. It dropped to the floor and continued to skid until it went under Major Mass Spec.

Jones was well aware of the futility of actually repairing a flash drive, but it was possible to put the guts into a new shell, if you were very good. It wouldn't last long; just long enough to retrieve the data. So he willingly announced, "No sense in you getting filthy. I'll get it." He dropped to his knees and flattened out, his long arm making it possible for him to reach to the wall underneath the machine. He found the chip without difficulty and was just beginning to get to his feet when someone came in the lab.

"Miss Sciuto, what the hell is this?! I don't want excuses, I want results." The man was red faced and yelling before he was even properly in the door.

Abby just turned to glower at the Senior Agent. The man was a constant thorn in her side. He wanted results that fit his suppositions, not factual results. And he tended to come into her lab to demand that he get what he wanted. Abby disliked him intensely and tended to yell back.

In this case, she barked, "Excuse me? Exactly what is wrong with my results? The science is valid. Your assumptions are beside the point. And get out of my face." She jabbed the man in the chest with a sharp fingernail. "If you don't like my results, go to a different lab. I'm not tweaking results to get them to mean what you want. I give you facts, you just have to find the person who fits them. Not the other way around."

The agent started to open his big mouth to argue with her, but suddenly, he decided it wasn't that good an idea. The huge man, clad in black UOD, with a mean look in his eye, changed his mind. His sullen rejoinder of, "We'll see what Vance has to say about this," got him a sneer from Abby.

"Yes, you just do exactly that. When Director Vance finds out that you want me to change evidence to fit who you think ought to be the perp... Well, I'd love to be a fly on the wall. Get out and take your evidence with you. And don't bring me anything else... ever." She turned to take the chip from Jones' hand, saying sweetly, "Thank you, kind sir. And for the backup." She smirked a bit. "But it really wasn't necessary. I'm used to him."

"Shouldn't oughta be. Men like that ought not be in this line of work. Facts are facts; twisting 'em to fit your convenience? What is he thinking?" Jones resolved to tell AJ about the jerk.

Abby shrugged. "I'll tell Gibbs, if he gets really difficult. He's sorta on his way out anyway. Vance doesn't like his ways. He's gotten a couple of cases kicked out of court because of the way he handles evidence and his habit of... leaving out 'unimportant' facts."

Jones just shook his head, a sad expression on his face. "That's just... fucked up. Seriously. He needs a good dose of Number Ten."

Abby scrunched up her nose. "Number Ten? What kind of medicine is that?"

Jones grinned at her. "He needs my number-ten-size boot up his ass so far it requires a KA-BAR and a flashlight to find it."

Abby giggled. "You're so bad."

"Yes, ma'am, I am. Don't like that kinda man. Intimidation and physical force have no place in a lab. Of course, if you want him gone, I could manage. I could give him the shovel talk."

Abby looked blank. "What?"

She jumped as Tony's voice from the doorway said, "Shovel talk. 'If you hurt her, I'll kill you with a trenching shovel, then use it to bury you.'" Jones just grinned at him. "Now, who is Jones giving the shovel talk to and why?"

Elmo Jones immediately finked out on the Senior Agent. Tony snarled, "Him again. Abby?"

"Don't worry. He threatened to go to Vance. I hope he does. And I've thrown him out of my lab. You!" She pointed at Jones. "Make yourself useful." She started checking evidence bags and putting them into boxes. "Take this... and this... and this... over to Lab Three. Tony, sign here... and here... and here, and take him where he should go." Abby signed off on the evidence, making sure that all the envelopes, bags, and containers were properly sealed and signed for. She was kicking Agent Malcolm out of her lab, but that didn't mean she was going to mishandle the evidence itself. She wasn't about to compromise chain of custody just because she was pissed.

Jones just collected the boxes and stacked them in his arms. He followed AJ as he led the way. "You gonna do something about that Malcolm jerk?"

Tony shrugged, "If Vance doesn't, we will. Just... remember that Abby is actually one of about three people in the whole world who could murder you, dispose of the body, and leave no forensic evidence behind. Seriously."

"Wow. I think... She's one scary lady." Jones sighed. "I'm beginning to think I made a mistake. Not completely convinced yet. But she's competent, I'll give her that."

Tony just snorted. "Bells?"

"Likes to know exactly where I am. And who hurt her? I'm gonna mess him up, just on general principles." Jones scowled at an innocent bit of fiber.

"Too late. He's in jail on stalking charges. When he gets out, we'll see." AJ's expression was everything menacing. Jones approved.

They dropped the boxes in Lab Three, to the moans and groans of all that lab's personnel. They knew to whom the evidence "belonged", and they didn't like him any more than Abby did. At least they had a supervisor between them and him. Tony just grinned and dragged Jones back out.

"Come on. Back to Labby."

When they got back, Abby was snarling at a filthy rag. "And who, I'd like to know, staunches a wound with something like this? Ick. I'd rather remove my own tonsils with Typhoid Mary's straight razor." She put the rag down and picked up a pair of scissors.

Tony stopped her before she could start her procedure. "You've got a dogsbody. Make him do that."

Abby nodded. "Ok. He can cut; you're right. I'm swamped with grunt work."

Jones announced, rather indignantly, "I'm no Marine."

This earned him a smack in the back of the head from Gibbs, who had just walked in the door. "Nothing wrong with being a Marine. As opposed to being a squid."

Jones now understood why AJ tolerated this treatment. It didn't really hurt; the way Gibbs cupped his palm created noise, not pain. "Sorry."

Abby snorted then snapped, "You should be, mister. There's nothing wrong with being a grunt. But this grunt work is prep, for advanced procedures and tests, that anyone with half a brain can do. You do have half a brain, right?" Tony hid his face to keep from insulting Jones by laughing.

Gibbs just snorted, then demanded, "You got anything for me?" He dangled a Caf-Pow under her nose.

Abby nodded, pigtails dancing, snatched the drink, then said, "I do, my silver fox. But not much. We've got a barbeque tank full of anhydrous ammonia, some odd bottles of unidentified scummy stuff, and that's about it. Oh, and there's a container that's still in the evidence garage. It has gunk in it. I'm just starting on that rag. There's some other fabric, but I'll do that last, as there's little chance of anything useful there. I'll have Jones prep it, then go get samples from the gunk and the bottles. That'll save me some time. I'll call when I have something. Unless your Abbydar goes off."

Gibbs eyed the mess, contained in two evidence boxes, that had come from the quarters of the suspected terrorists. As if they hadn't had enough of that on the last op. "Ok, Abby. Work your magic." He turned and left with AJ at his heels.

Abby explained exactly what she needed Jones to do, which was lay the rag out, take a photo from all four sides, draw it out with a letter on each stain, then cut it into one-inch squares, keeping track of where each inch had come from. Each piece was to be put into a Petri dish and soaked in a special solution. She ended by telling him, "Then put them all on this tray and come see me. Questions?"

"Not yet. I'll ask if I get stuck." He bent to his task, forgetting completely that he was supposed to be hating this.

Abby watched for a moment, then went to put the glassware in the autoclave. She'd really rather do that herself. She called over her shoulder, "Just let me get this into the autoclave, and don't bother. I'd rather do it myself. The autoclave is picky, and I don't want to blow us up. Or steam us. Which would be more likely as the door would leak rather than let steam build up until it exploded. I don't know that I've ever heard of one blowing up. Have you? No. That's a stupid question. SEALs don't autoclave stuff. Do they? I don't think you do. Why would a SEAL need sterile stuff? Except for medical supplies, but they're delivered in sealed, sterile packaging, right?"

Jones just gave up. He listened to what he could hear of the Abby-babble over the pounding bass of Brain Matter—or was it Coyote Bitches? He wasn't sure. All he knew was, it was obnoxious. He made the appropriate noises, noises that indicated he was listening.

Abby realized that her companion probably hadn't understood half of what she was saying, so she turned her music down. Contrary to popular belief, she only kept it at full blast when people she didn't like were in her lab, or people who enjoyed it just as much as she did. Except for McGee; she knew he didn't like it, but she also knew he'd tolerate it for her.

Jones looked up from his task. "Sorry, did you say something?"

"No. Or nothing important. How are you doing?" Abby approached to peer over his shoulder.

"Okay. I set the tray up this way." He explained that he'd put each Petri dish on the tray already. Each dish was labeled with a letter that corresponded to the bit of the rag indicated on his sketch. "That way, all I have to do is cut it off and put it in the proper dish. I don't have to put things down and pick them up again."

Abby nodded. "Great. That's good. I'll just put the solution on and put the tops on. That'll get this job done, lickety split. Then we'll have to put on hazmat gear and deal with slime and scum and gunk. Never, ever think, 'it'll be okay, this time'. Last time I thought it wouldn't be a problem, I wound up high as a kite. The 'baby powder'..." she made air quotes with her fingers, "turned out to be LSD in powder form. Some idiot was trying to smuggle it on board the Dwight D. Seriously, that much LSD on a Nimitz class? So not good. Anyway, I dropped it, and the powder whooshed into my face. I didn't inhale that much, but Gibbs nearly had a spaz. So, hazmat, without fail."

Jones thought about several ounces of LSD powder aboard an aircraft carrier and cringed. "Okay, and what happened to the... perp?"

"Perp, as in perpetrator. I think he's still in Leavenworth. I didn't have to go to court on that one." Abby made a face at the thought of going to court. It was always such a trial to her; she hated getting dressed up for court. "So, anyway." She popped the lid on the last dish. "That will soak for four hours, or until I can get to it. Gunk and slime, here we come." She grabbed Jones by the arm and dragged him out the door. "And what the hell is your name, anyway? I can't keep thinking of you as Petty Officer Lab Rat."

"Um... Petty Officer Elmo Jones, ma'am." He waited for the usual joke about his name.

"Elmo? That's a nice name. I had a great, or was it great-great? Anyway, uncle named Elmo. Fought in World War Two." She paused in front of a locker. "Here we are. Grab one. I think you'll be an extra-large, or even extra-extra. I'll help you get it sealed properly and put a new canister on the mask. No one checks this stuff except me. I swear, you'd think there'd be someone assigned to it, but ... neeeuuuwww. Abby'll do it."

She stopped babbling and helped PO Jones into a suit and mask, showing him how to change the filter canister. He was pretty sure he knew how to do it, but the mask wasn't the type SEALs used, so he kept his mouth shut and watched.

After they got their hazmat suits and masks on, they went into the evidence garage proper. Abby forgot and began signing; luckily for them both, most SEALs knew basic sign language. ASL was taught as a method for quick, understandable communication in loud environments, or when silence was important. Jones signed back.

/We need to be very careful with all this crap. It might be toxic./ Abby turned when Jones touched her on the shoulder.

/Sorry. I can't read you from the side./

Abby gaped for a moment then squealed. "Oh, my god. You sign? That's great. Sorry. I forgot. Anyway. We need to be really careful with all this gunk. It might be toxic, corrosive or... who knows? Double-glove, and change the top glove after you touch any evidence. We don't want to transfer the gunk into the slime, or the slime into the scum, or any combination of the three." She produced a pack of small paddles and evidence containers. "Use one of these little paddles to scoop up a dab of... whatever. Then scrape it off into one of these containers. Team Gibbs has already labeled everything. Make sure the label information coincides with the information on your sample container. And don't get any of anything on your skin. I remember one time Timmy was careless. He got a glob of green goop on him; he was out of it for hours. Ducky was really worried. We're still not sure exactly what it was." Abby efficiently set up for sampling as she talked.

Jones was now thoroughly sorry for his nasty remarks about hysterical Goth chicks and psycho scientists. This cheerful, bubbly woman was nothing like he expected a scientist to be, but she was good, and fun to work with, despite the bells and paranoia.

After everything was set up, they began sampling the bottles. Just from the look of them, they were what was mistakenly called in the news shake-and-bake bottles. The ingredients were dropped into the bottle, then it was shaken until the drug was produced. One of the many problems with this was, the leftovers were deadly. So they wore hazmat suits.

"Excuse me. Why don't you just sample one bottle and let it go at that?" It seemed a sensible way to deal with this mass of evidence.

"Because some hotshot is sure to say, 'So, you sample one and assume that they're all the same,' then... bam!... out goes the case. So we waste time sampling everything. You know and I know that they all contain the same stuff, but we have to prove it. And that bucket. I have no idea what's in that." She opened the first bottle and scooped out a bit, plunked it into a sample container, closed it up and compared labels for the second time. Jones followed suit with his own bottle. Abby nodded her approval of his technique and said, "Good. I've already split the mess into two groups. I was expecting McGee to help me. We always split stuff like this."

Jones tuned her out, more or less; he listened enough to make sure she didn't want him to do something.

It took what seemed like forever to sample the dozens of bottles. As they worked, they put the bottles neatly into milk crates, upright and closely packed. This condensed the mess from several boxes to four.

Abby sighed. "Let's take a break. It's nearly one and I'm starved. All this will wait. Gibbs hasn't brought me anything new and my other team—was two, now it's one—hasn't either. I know Vance will assign me another team. I work with MCRT's; that's Gibbs, Balboa, and Taylor only, since I refuse to deal with Malcolm anymore. I might get lucky and only have three. The other two labs deal with four teams each. And there's a secondary lab that does some of the simpler stuff. They're all good, but inexperienced."

Jones thought as they stripped out of the overalls. "Um... not really my place but... why don't you pick out about ten bottles and let that lab test the rest? They're sanctioned or whatever you call it."  
Abby nodded. "Now that's an idea. I've got my evidence, they get experience, and we're both happy. Now. Where do you want to eat?"

Jones shook his head. "Never been in this part of DC; no idea. Um... just in case, we better check with AJ before we leave the building. Okay?" He was glad to see that she wasn't shying away from him anymore.

Abby, cheerfully unaware of Elmo's worries, trotted back to her lab. "I'm not sure where we should go, but telling Tony is a good idea. Maybe he can suggest some place that we'd both like." She opened the lab door. "Oh, and ditch those bells. Irritating, really, and so not necessary."

Elmo was glad to obey that order; the bells were very irritating.

They took the elevator up to the squad room, and Abby bounced into the bullpen. Jones managed to follow her without running, his long legs keeping up easily.

"Gibbs, Gibbs, Gibbs! I'm almost done with all that gunk and slime and scum. I've sampled all the shake-and-bake bottles. I thought... or, rather, Jones thought that I could analyze ten or so and let the secondary lab do the rest. I've still got the gunk in the bucket and some bits and pieces of goo. Then I'll work on the fiber stuff. But I'm starving and I want another Caf-Pow so I thought Jones and I could go out to lunch. Please?"

Gibbs just nodded, eyes still on his monitor. "Abby, go; eat. Whatever. McGee's still working on that laptop. He's talking about firewalls, packets, and who knows what. DiNozzo is out with Ziva, running down a witness."

Abby sighed. "Well, darn. I was hoping Tony would be able to tell me somewhere close that Jones might like."

Gibbs glanced up at the SEAL. "Take him to a steak house. There's one about six blocks north, turn east three blocks, park, walk another block west. There you are. Looks awful, but the food's good, and they've got Guinness and some microbrew stuff. DiNozzo took me there last week."

Abby beamed happily. "Thanks. We'll be back in an hour."

Gibbs snorted, well aware that Abby's hour was usually more like an hour and a half. "Go, go." He glanced up at Jones. "You: shovel. Got me?"

Jones saluted Gibbs. "Yes, sir. I do, sir."

Gibbs sighed, "Don't call me sir; I work for a living."

Jones just dropped to 'at ease,' then ambled away, taking Abby's arm as he went. "You driving?"

Abby nodded. "I know just about where it is. There's been some good things said about that place. I just don't know its name. Everyone's just talking about 'that steak place.' Let's go. Oh, and call me Abby, so I can call you Elmo. I can call you Elmo, right?"

"Sure, call me anything you like, as long as you call me for supper." They both laughed at the old joke.

The back door to NCIS was guarded just as carefully as the front, so it took several minutes to check out, but the walk to Abby's car didn't take long. Elmo was suitably impressed with Abby's car. "What the fuck?"

Abby smirked and announced, "It's a 1931 Ford Coupe hot rod, with a 350 Chevy engine, 420 hp, Hydro transmission, and is equipped with flame throwers. Although the local LEOs do get a bit upset when I use them. Come on; I'm starving."

Elmo scrambled in, wedging his large body into the front seat without complaint.

Abby snorted, then pointed to the front of his seat. "Split bench; make yourself comfortable. Besides, it gets your shoulders out of my line of sight."

"Thanks. Foot room's nice, after I get the seat back." He fiddled for a moment then settled, stretching his legs into the footwell.

Abby was silent as she drove. She loved to chat, but wasn't much for talking while driving; she felt it distracted her too much. She was pleased to find that the restaurant was right where Gibbs said it was. She drove right by it and parked in the lot at the end of the block, and they walked back to the entrance.

Once through the door, they were surprised to find that the place was much nicer on the inside than the outside. The outside was industrial modern; the inside was more like an old-fashioned gentlemen's club.

The host showed them to a table right in the middle of the room. Abby glanced around then said, "Can we have that table?" She pointed to one at the side of the room. Jones looked relieved.

"Certainly, Miss." The host led the way. After putting down their menus and introducing their waiter, he strode off.

The waiter scowled at the host's back, then asked for their choice of drink.

Abby wondered at the byplay, then forgot it as she tried to decide between sweet tea and lemonade.

Elmo Jones glanced at the menu then asked, "How do you like your steak?"

"Bleeding." Abby decided on tea. "Why?"

"The Porterhouse looks good, but it's seventy-two ounces, and even I can't manage all that." He gave Abby a hopeful look.

Abby just put the menu down, saying, "I can manage about twenty-four ounces; that leaves forty-eight for you. Maybe a bit more; potato and salad are going to take up room."

"Well, then. I think we're good to go. I'll order, okay?" Jones wasn't sure if Abby was old-fashioned or newfangled when it came to ordering.

"Okay. I need the Ladies'; Caf-Pow needs out." She got up and headed for the restroom.

PO Jones ordered while he waited for Abby to return. The waiter gave the host another dirty look, which made Jones ask, "What is your problem with him? That's the second hairy eyeball you've given him. I need to take the lady elsewhere?"

"No. Or, at least, I hope not. The idiot lets drunks in, or lets some of his friends get away with a four-martini lunch. We're losing business because of it. My tips are down by fifty bucks a day." He walked away muttering and shaking his head.

Jones glanced toward the restrooms and was pissed to see that Abby was cornered by some lush. He got up and headed that way at a dead run, vaulting tables on the way. Heads turned.

He made it to Abby just as the man grabbed her somewhere she really didn't approve of. She saw Elmo over her attacker's shoulder and shouted, "Catch!" Then she rammed a fist into his solar plexus, kicked his feet out from under him, applied a shoulder throw, and watched as Elmo caught him. The humiliating frog-march to the door and subsequent shove out said door was greeted by applause from the regulars in the room.

Elmo returned to the table to see Abby fixing her hair in a hand mirror. "Miss Abby, are you all right? Damn; I should have kept a better eye out."

Abby shook her head, pigtails dancing. "No, I'm a grown-up woman. But thanks for the help. Now look intimidating."

Elmo wasn't sure why she wanted him to look intimidating, but he accommodated her, just as the day manager came to the table to apologize.

Abby glowered at him and announced, "I really do think that someone needs to explain to someone else that his drunken friends are driving away business. And a comped meal would be a nice apology. Right?" her bright-eyed expression gave the manager the babbles. He comped their entire meal, including drinks and dessert. His quick glances at Elmo only made him sweat.

Abby smiled happily as the man went away. "Well, you can stop now. That was really good." She put her compact away with every evidence of satisfaction.

Elmo beamed, happy that Abby was happy. If things were different, he might have made a pass at her, but AJ had been very clear: Honey Badger was coming out if he did anything untoward. Making a pass was 'way untoward. But he did think he could get away with a few semi-personal questions.

"Um... mind if I ask? Why pigtails?" He blushed a bit, but stuck it out.

Abby was distracted by the dessert cart. It wasn't time yet, but she wanted to see what was available. "Keeps my hair out of the evidence. Um... cheesecake or death by chocolate? Decisions, decisions."

"Another question, please." Abby made a noise that Elmo chose to interpret as agreement. "Where'd you learn those moves?"

Abby glanced up, said, "Ziva," and went back to her contemplation of desirable dessert.

Elmo subsided, letting her decide.

Their food came. It was perfect. Elmo cut out the best part for Abby, who ate all of it, much to his pleasure. They had bakers and salad, and each took one of the desserts Abby coveted. They cut them in half and shared.

Elmo dropped a good tip on the table, and they just walked out.

.

Once back at NCIS, they returned to sampling, this time looking for stray hairs on several fabrics that had been confiscated from the home site. There wasn't much chance of anything useful, as the woman who lived there had actually been shaking everything out when the team had arrived. But there was a chance, so Abby started examining everything in meticulous detail. Elmo didn't know how to help her, so he just sat on a stool and observed.

They both nearly jumped out of their skins when McGee burst in. "Abs, I need to use your office. Vance has a bunch of observers up in the squad room, and they keep wandering into our bullpen and asking idiot questions. Gibbs is gonna have a fit if I don't crack this thing soon."

Abby pressed a hand against her chest. "Damn, Timmy, give a gal a heart attack, why don't you?" She waved in the general direction of her office. "Knock yourself out."

Tim took his work into her office and shut the door.

"That common? Barging in like that?" Elmo wasn't sure exactly who this character was, but he'd scared Abby.

"Wha'? Oh, Tim barging in like that?" Elmo nodded. "Not really. He's really nice and generally even-tempered, but this case has us all in a lather. Wonder why that's an expression for all upset? Where did it come from? What kind of lather?" She shook her head, then exclaimed, "Concentrate, Abby. Vance thinks, and Gibbs agrees, that someone is going to try to smuggle a lot of meth onto a ship. A lot more than someone who is selling would. What they're going to do with it, no one knows, but it can't possibly be good. So we have to catch them quick. And make sure we find the drugs. So everyone's all running around like chickens with their heads cut off. You ever butcher chickens? I have, and I can tell you, they don't run around, they just flop over, dead. And having a bunch of observers wandering around is really distracting. Timmy needs to concentrate; if someone talks to him, it breaks his chain of thought and he has to rebuild it all over. Makes him cranky."

Elmo eyed the door to Abby's office then said, "Ok, why don't we turn off that music and go back to the garage. We still need to sample that bucket. We can take our sample to another lab and test it there. That'll give McGee the quiet he needs to work."

Abby nodded. "Great idea. I can go to Lab Four. They won't mind, especially when I tell them that Tim needed out of the bullpen. Come on." She picked up several evidence sample containers and trotted out the door.

Elmo worried a bit about the fiber samples, but Abby had said that they were low-priority because the primary evidence had been shaken before they'd been collected. He followed Abby quietly, thinking over everything he'd learned about Abby. Tony was right; he needed to have all the facts before he made a decision. Something hit him just then: his CO and several other SEALs had been trying to tell him that for months. Now he knew why. Jumping to conclusions without all the facts was just like jumping out of an airplane without a parachute: not a good idea.

They suited up, and Elmo insisted on checking all the seals on Abby's suit and had her check his. They put new filters in their masks and went into the garage.

Abby put the small plastic tray down on the floor and pulled the bucket out from under the shelving unit where it had been stuffed. She tugged on the lid, then pulled harder; after struggling for a few moments, she huffed and pushed it in Elmo's direction. "Here, you open that darn thing."

Elmo took time to examine the bucket and realized it had a metal hoop with a lever-clamp on it. The hoop, clamped down, held the lid on tightly. He released the clamp, opened the hoop, and took it off. Setting the hoop aside, he lifted the lid. He put it back on just as quickly as he'd taken it off.

"Miss Abby. Do not argue with me. Go get everyone out. Now. We've got homemade ANFO."

Abby didn't argue; the look on Elmo's face had her scurrying away, calling to the rest of the people in the room. "ANFO! Everyone out! Move it, people!" No one argued; they all knew that this sort of explosive could be volatile and dangerous.

Elmo pulled his phone out of his pocket and called AJ. "AJ, we got a problem down in the garage. ANFO. That bucket." He listened for a moment then said, "Yes, sir. She's already gone, along with everyone else in the place." He pulled the phone away from his ear as AJ yelled at him. "No, I'm on my way out." And he was; he punched the elevator button as he closed his phone.

He strode out of the elevator into the bullpen, looking for Abby. "AJ! Where the hell is Miss Abby? I saw her get on the elevator myself. She's not in her lab; I checked before I came up."

Tony looked up from his phone conversation. "She's reporting to Vance. And I'm trying to find out what jackass thought it was smart to bring that bucket into NCIS without opening it."

Gibbs grumbled, "And that's what you get when you let a bunch of technicians do all the work. None of them have the sense God gave a goat."

One of the new protocols that Vance had initiated was allowing the CSTs to process a crime scene without supervision. He said it was a waste of valuable time on the part of the MCRT. Gibbs thought it was stupid; most of the CSTs were interns now, another decision that most of the Senior Agents didn't agree with. Vance's viewpoint was that most of their CST's had left for greener pastures lately, and the newbies needed the experience. Gibbs had never let the CST's process a scene without one of his team on-site before, and he'd never do it again.

"Bomb squad is on the way down from Quantico." Tony hung up his phone. "I'm going down to make sure the garage is clear. Elmo?"

Elmo didn't bother to salute, he just zeroed in on AJ. "Sir?"

"You come with me. I want you to make sure that no one but the bomb squad enters that room. I'll take the garage doors after I clear the room." AJ headed for the stairs. He was too impatient to wait for the elevator; what if someone hadn't heard about the ANFO, or thought they could work around it?

They were lucky. No one was about when they got there. A quick check made sure, then AJ stationed himself at the garage doors in case a team came in with something. Elmo, on the elevators, turned one man away without trouble. The other man turned out to be an Assistant Director who thought he should be allowed to inspect anything, anywhere, any time. Elmo was tempted to just let the man blow himself up, but decided the mess it would make wasn't worth it. So he blocked the doorway by standing in it; his broad shoulders and height made it impossible to even see by him, much less get by.

"I'm sorry, sir. If you want in, you'll have to clear it with someone higher up the chain of command. My orders are, no one in, period." Elmo braced himself for a bitch-out which didn't come.

Leon Vance was convinced that Taverton had a death wish. One, everyone had been cleared out of the building on his orders. Two, they'd been told there was danger of an explosion. And three, Vance himself had told Taverton, on several occasions, that orders like that included him. "Taverton, go to your office and find out why the Quantico bomb squad hasn't arrived yet. And if you're the one who countermanded my order, I'll be speaking to you later."

Taverton scuttled away, thanking his lucky stars that he hadn't done exactly that.

Director Vance looked after him for a moment then grumbled, "Too bad. Well, young man, do I need to see what the situation is for myself, or can you provide a sitrep?"

Elmo shook his head, "I can give you that." It didn't take him long to complete his verbal report.

Leon Vance realized that several of his ideas were coming back to haunt him. He'd been told that letting so many CST's retire all at once was a bad idea, but he'd done it in order to cut the payroll. He'd thought that the new hires were competent. And they were, in a civilian venue, but NCIS was more military than not, even if they were a civilian adjunct. In the civilian venue, CST's collected all evidence, most times not even opening containers, and took it all to a lab. The few times they handled explosives of any kind, it was an obvious bomb. To them, a bucket of something was just that: a bucket of something to be analyzed in a lab.

With a sigh the Director made a mental note to have one of his aides begin a search for some better qualified CSI's to head teams of CST's.

"So... now what?" He really wanted the SEAL's opinion.

Jones thought for a second, then allowed, "Let AJ handle it. He's a mean bitch when someone interferes in something he considers his op. Me? I'm just hangin' out, obeyin' orders."

Director Vance decided his best bet was to let his expert handle the mess his way. He was Director, after all, and Cynthia was always complaining about his lack of delegation. "Fine. If you need anything, let me know. I'll be in my office." He put a toothpick in his mouth and left, hoping DiNozzo knew what the hell he was doing.

Meanwhile, AJ was dealing with a bomb squad from Quantico. The CO was a well-built black man with a high-and-tight. He started out by barking, "Who the hell is in charge of this Charlie-Foxtrot?"  
AJ handed him his credentials folder. "That'd be me. Unless Director Vance decides to butt in."

The CO snapped to attention and saluted. "Sir!"

"Don't do that. I'm in civvies." He hated it when personnel saluted him out of uniform. They meant it as a sign of respect, but it was silly, seeing a person in uniform saluting someone in civvies.

"Okay. So, what's the panic?"

Tony led the CO—his name strip read "Farley," and his stripes said his rank was Master Sergeant—over to the bucket. "Here, MS Farley. This bucket contains ANFO. Not sure how much. Not sure how pure. Not... well, you get the pic. Fix it."

"And you'll be...?" MS Farley wanted to know how involved this Special Agent/Lieutenant Commander was going to be.

"I'll just be over here. Out of the way. You need anything, I'll see about getting it for you." Tony knew better than to get in the way. He was perfectly capable of handling a bomb, but this was just raw ANFO, so he had no idea. Also, he didn't have a bomb suit and he wasn't about to deal with any of this mess without one. Gibbs would have his ass in a sling.

The Master Sergeant sighed quietly. That was a real relief; he really didn't want to explain to his CO how raw ANFO had exploded in NCIS, although, now that he thought about it, it really wouldn't be a problem. Redecorating NCIS's evidence garage with his brains and guts wasn't his idea of something to do.

It didn't take long to get the bucket into the heavily armored bomb trailer. They just backed it up into the loading dock, eased the bucket into the trailer, and drove away with it. When they reached Quantico it was destroyed by the simplest of methods: they blew it up. The explosion rated a six on a scale of one to ten. In other words, not earth-shaking, but it really would have messed up NCIS' day.

.

Elmo Jones, dismissed from guard duty, went to find Abby. He checked the garage level ladies' room by knocking and calling her name. A blonde popped out, announced, "She's not here; check her lab." then walked away.

Elmo decided to check the lab. Abby had an office there; maybe she'd retreated there to collect her nerves. What he found left him muttering, "Woman is nuts."

Abby had returned to her lab to finish her testing for the day. She still had to recalibrate her DNA sequencer and run several DNA tests. It took approximately forty-eight hours to run one test, and her sequencer could do two tests at one time. Since she had half a dozen, and each Senior Agent was clamoring for his results first, that was a lot of work to do. Thankfully, she didn't have to stand over her baby while it worked.

"Miss Abby! What in the Sam Hill?" Elmo just stood in the doorway and stared.

"Oh! Elmo. There you are. ANFO gone?" He just nodded. "Good. Oh, my God. Can you imagine what that much ANFO going off would have done to the garage? Awful. And Gibbs is still up in Vance's office, giving him hell. He was pissed. And let me tell you... when Gibbs is pissed, it is not a good thing. And in this case, a very bad thing. Nearly as bad as Tony going all SEAL and all."

Elmo shook his head. "No, ma'am. AJ's worse. He's got seniority and rank. And a fist like a rock." He let it drop at that and just listened to Abby as she babbled about what she was doing. She caught herself after a few moments and sent him to clean out the supply closet with an inventory sheet for company. He went, shaking his head. The woman was tireless and seemed to have nerves of steel. He was feeling a bit shaky, thinking about the damage that stuff might have done.

He finished that job and returned to Abby, clipboard in hand.

Abby took it, sucking on a straw absent-mindedly. "Oh, great. I'm gonna have to requisition more gloves. I swear, I go through more gloves..." Gibbs walked in just then. "Gibbs! Why are you down here? I don't have anything for you yet. You got all the results I have. The DNA won't be done until..." She checked the DNA sequencer, "0800. And not a second sooner."

Gibbs just waited until she ran down. "I'm just checking up on you, Abs. How are you?"

"I'm fine. It's not like I actually moved it around a lot or shook it or hit it or something. And the chances of it going off were slim." Abby took the cup Gibbs offered and put it in a fridge. "I'll save that for later; I've still got half a cup. Oh! I know." She took the cup, opened it and poured some into a beaker. "Here, Jones, you can have part."

Gibbs watched this with some amusement. He'd tasted Caf-Pow, once; he'd found it sickeningly sweet, with a bitter aftertaste that lingered even after he'd spit it out. He was not swallowing anything that tasted like that.

Jones took the beaker and straw Abby offered him. "Well, I was scared to death. That stuff is usually stable, if you know how to mix it. But a static spark could set it off. Or someone could have done something stupid. That much ANFO would have taken out half the building. I'm still shaking." He held out one hand, steady as a rock, and took a sip of the Caf-Pow. The expression of disgust that flitted across his face made Gibbs smirk. "Oh, My God! That stuff is gross. Sorry, Miss Abby."

Abby shrugged. "It's a bit of an acquired taste." She pointed to the sink. "Pour it down the sink."

Gibbs took the beaker from Jones and did that himself. "I came down to see if you had time to work on a laptop with Tim. Something about packets and IT admin passwords. No idea, but he's stuck."

Abby sighed. "No, not really. I'm working on half a dozen things right now, and I have to keep on top of my babies. The second a test is done, I have to get another in." Just then something dinged, and she rushed away to record her results and start another test.

Jones watched for a moment then said, "I could give it a look. Demolitions is my specialty, but I'm fair with a computer. I like cryptology, and computer cryptology is a hobby of mine."

Gibbs pulled his phone out of his pocket and dialed. "DiNozzo. Jones any good with computers?" He listened for a moment then replied, "Send McGee back down with that laptop. Abby's too busy, but Jones said he'd give it a try."

It didn't take long for McGee to show up with the computer. He eyed Jones for a moment then said, "Jones. I remember you." He put the laptop on Abby's desk and closed the door behind them. "Abby's music isn't loud enough to penetrate the soundproofing, so we should be able to talk to each other."

They settled, side by side to work on the encryptions on the computer. Jones proved that he knew what he was doing as they attacked the walls in tandem. It didn't take long to break into the thing and get the data that McGee needed.

"Well, that was quick. What was the real problem?" Jones couldn't believe that they'd had to do a tandem attack.

McGee made a face, his lower lip stuck out, eyes narrowed. "I couldn't use some of my best programs because the IT director won't allow them on the mainframe. And my desktop is running searches, so there's not enough memory left to run the cracker too. I hate doing this sort of thing manually; it takes so much time. But, as Tony said, wish in one hand, shit in the other, and see which one fills up first. Thanks for the help."

Jones nodded. "Welcome. So Miss Abby helps you with computer work?"

"All the time. She's got degrees in just about everything to do with anything forensic. Not all PhDs; mostly masters, but she's really good. If Abby or I can't do it, it can't be done. I better go; Gibbs isn't the most patient of people." McGee left, taking the laptop with him and leaving Jones with another check mark in his book of Abby.

Abby turned away from some test or other, slurping her Caf-Pow. "Man, what time is it? I'm hungry."

Elmo glanced at his watch then announced, "1900. Lunch wore off a long time ago. Want me to go find something?"

"Nah. I'm good. I keep energy bars and MREs in my office. So... energy bar or MRE?" Abby wandered into her office to rummage through her box of foodstuffs.

"I'd rather have an energy bar." He thought about it for a moment, then asked, "MREs? What kind?" Jones wasn't that happy with the menu, but he figured that if Abby could do this every single day, he could do it for one.

"Um... spaghetti and meat sauce, Swedish meatballs and noodles, or... meat loaf. Don't recommend that; it's nasty. But I buy assorted cases, so I get what I get. Or, energy bars... um…" She rummaged some more. " Lemon breeze, blueberry granola, raisin peanut, or maple something. I never bother with most of the names, because they don't really tell you what's in them. So name your poison." Abby grinned at him over her shoulder.

"Meatballs and a blueberry energy bar. Coffee?" Jones hoped for some good coffee, instead of Caf-Pow. That stuff would never pass his lips again, if he had anything to say about it.

Abby handed over the requested items. "These MREs are military, so there's instant coffee and stuff in them. I usually toss all the extras in that box, so there's coffee, hot chocolate, toilet paper and all kinds of stuff there. Help yourself."

Jones rummaged the box himself, saying, "Thanks, Miss Abby. I know NCIS provides coffee in the lounge and some machines, but... have you tasted that stuff? Weak as ditch-water and cold as my ex-wife's heart. Where can I boil some water?"

"Chem lab, Bunsen burner." She pointed to the area and handed him a beaker. "Use this one; I keep it just for tea water."

Jones smiled, took the beaker and filled it at the sink. "I got enough water for you to have tea. Want?"

Abby held up a tea bag. "I do. Caf-Pow is all well and good, but tea is good too." She thrust the bag into his hand as one of her babies dinged. Elmo took the bag, found two cups, and went to make the drinks. He also managed to get their food heated and ready when the tea and coffee were done.

Abby happily ate at her desk. Elmo squatted with his back against the wall.

After they finished eating, Elmo followed Abby around the lab, helping where he could and cleaning up after Abby as best he could. She announced that if she could find an assistant as good as he was, she'd keep him.

Gibbs came in once for some results. Tony dropped by twice to see how things were going.

The second time he came in, it was nearly 2100, and Elmo was beginning to wonder when his day would be over. He could, and would, hang in there for as much as thirty-six hours; he didn't really see the need, though. It wasn't as if anyone had been kidnapped, or terrorists were giving them a few hours to come up with some ridiculous amount of drugs or money.

Abby finally sighed, "Well, that's that for the day. Every test that I could do is done. Time to go home."

Elmo was just in time to catch her before she dropped to her knees. "Oh, thanks. That happens when the Caf-Pow wears off. I wonder why Gibbs didn't bring me one last cup?"

A voice from the door said, "Maybe because it's time to go home?" Gibbs' dry tone made Elmo chuckle.

"Yeah, and I'm gonna crash before I get home." Abby scrunched her face up in dismay.

"No, you won't. I'm drivin' ya. Come on." Gibbs nodded to Elmo. "You're dismissed. Tony is waiting for you in the bullpen." With that, he looped an arm around Abby's waist and supported her to the door. They disappeared down the corridor that led to the underground parking.

Elmo took the elevator up to the squad room and found Tony waiting at his desk. He saluted, as AJ had changed into his blacks. "Sir."

AJ just gave him the fish-eye and barked, "Well?"

"Sir, if I bend over, will you kick my ass?" AJ snorted at that. Elmo continued, "I swear, that woman is a whirlwind. She must have at least ten tests going at any one time, and how she keeps track of whose team what belongs to is beyond me. She needs help, bad. But she told me over lunch about that Chip asshole. She's as gun-shy as a pup."

Tony nodded. "She is. Vance has offered her a lab assistant several times. Last time, she threatened to quit. She's a rock. How is she right now?"

Elmo sighed and rubbed his face. "Crashed. Gibbs is taking her home. And, if I'm dismissed, that's where I'm going too."

Tony saluted him and allowed, "Dismissed. Go home, get some rest. You on duty tomorrow?"

"No. And I'm sleepin' in. I swear, that woman. And she's gonna be in, in time for that test Gibbs wants. It'll be done at 0800. Good night." And with that he saluted one last time and left. He had a new respect for what many SEALs called squints.

AJ packed up the last of his stuff and headed for home too. He took a moment to turn off the desk lamp that Ziva had left on, looked around for a moment, then he, too, was gone.

.

The actual car that Pauley Perrette drives is as I described it. It belongs to Larry Fuentes, Special F/X Coordinator for NCIS. The license plate on the show reads 4NS-CHIK. It was first seen in, I believe, Dog Tags.

ANFO has been used for years for farm demolitions. Tree stumps, large rocks, ponds; you name it. The smell is unmistakable. It's also dangerous; if you mix it wrong, it's unstable, or won't blow up. It's easy to make, but easy to foul up. Drug makers sometimes booby-trap their works with it. Terrorists use it a lot.

The probability of its going off in the garage is slim but there. So, where there's a probability, there's a story. *G*

CST - crime scene tech (the people who gather the evidence. CSI is an investigator who has some sort of degree in something; the tech just picks stuff up and preserves it. You don't see them on TV because the job is dull and boring to watch.)


End file.
